The morning was foggy. I left for work early, knowing I'd leave work early, and drove through the velvet as it turned from coal to silver, as the sun crossed the horizon line. The upper clouds glowed golden and purple and pink.
As I turned up the driveway for work I saw just for a moment a dazzling sun break above the earth through the naked trees. I drove toward the eastern overlook of the parking garage, though I usually park on the western side. I thought I'd finish my coffee and be gifted with a spectacular sunrise. But by the time I drove the incline and pulled into a spot, all the dazzle was gone. As the sun's rays found the soupy air, the whole sky turned thick and gray. There was no sunrise, despite my calculations and my anticipation. I thought I knew what to expect.
The lovely husband's grandmother, our sweet kids' Gigi, she's still hanging on. Unresponsive but still breathing, this wasn't the week we expected to have. We've kept her close to our thoughts but we also carry on with keeping the days, especially for the kids, as ordinary as can be.
And so we went to E's ballet showcase this afternoon.
It was delightful: earnest six-year-olds, all pink tulle and pointy toes, plie and releve.
Because if there's any urgent lesson of this past week it's to find joy where joy lives, even in the face of sorrow. And first ballet showcases merit some parental devotion.
It wasn't a full-blown ballet recital. That comes in June with costumes from the costume closet and a technical rehearsal with lighting designers from the local university. This was a mid-year pat on the back. Our girl who has wanted to study ballet practices her running leaps, stretches at the barre. June will be wonderful, I'm sure, but I'm keeping my focus on the present. We don't know what tomorrow will bring.